


In London Town

by PFL (msmoat)



Category: I Spy (1965)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/pseuds/PFL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Bonfire Night in London. Kelly and Scotty are supposed to be attending a party that the Department is interested in. But Kelly is in the hospital, the victim of a beating when he was too drunk to defend himself. He doesn't remember anything about the incident, or how he could have let himself get so drunk. Scotty must attend the part without him, which is only one of the reasons why Kelly is worried and depressed and thinking it would be better for everyone if he left the Department.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In London Town

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Keiko Kirin (sakana17)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakana17/gifts).



Kelly leaned against the wall of the hospital’s day room and stared out the window, even though there was little to see except darkness and his own reflection. It suited his mood, and the despair that seemed to be creeping ever closer. He had thought he’d beaten it back, but he hadn’t planned for every contingency. He hadn’t planned for Scotty.

Scotty himself had been cheerful enough when he’d visited Kelly earlier in the day. “Don’t tell me,” he’d said to Scotty. “It’s written all over your face, behind that surface resigned look. You’re going to the party without me, aren’t you, Jack?”

“Well, listen now, they aren’t letting you out until tomorrow.”

“Even though, technically, the forty-eight hour observation period for a concussion is over with as of, um, two a.m.”

Scotty had looked at him. “I am not coming back for you at two a.m. You’re in a nice hospital, in a nice country. There are no bad guys coming after us — “

“Yes, but you could pick me up so easily. The house is just down the street. Swoop in, rescue me — but no. Don’t tell me: you’re going to go for yourself, aren’t you?”

Scotty had smiled broadly. 

“A fine friend and partner and trainer you are!”

“Now, behave yourself, Hoby, and I’ll come get you in the morning.” Scotty had pulled the blanket up to Kelly’s chin. “Or sometime, anyway.”

“Yes. I’ll be watching the clock.”

Scotty had waggled his fingers at him as he’d left the ward. The old, familiar despair had washed in shortly after that. He knew Scotty was taking Julia to the party. That was as it should be. But this was the first woman since Laya that Scotty had fallen for, and it seemed Kelly hadn’t been prepared for that to happen. Sure, he wanted Scotty to be happy — he liked the glow Scotty exuded when he — Well. He liked it. But Scotty was getting serious. _Mom’s asked me if I’m ever coming home for Christmas_ , he’d said, straight out of the blue, just the day before yesterday. Kelly knew what that meant. He knew what Scotty was thinking about. He had always known the time would arrive when Scotty would come to his senses and get out. Leave the Department. Leave Kelly. And so, Kelly had given in to temptation and had gone out for a drink on his own. Only, he had ended up in the hospital with bruises, a concussion, and no memory of any of it. The Department reps in London hadn’t been amused. Scotty hadn’t been all that amused, either.

Kelly sighed, his gaze on the peeling paint on the window frame. He couldn’t blame them, really. He’d screwed up. And coming as it did after the debacle on Santorini, Zili’s death, and the — say it — torture in Spain, it wasn’t too surprising the Department had doubts about him. Hell, there always had been doubts about him. He shared some of them himself. But this…

He remembered going in to the pub. He had just wanted a drink or two, and a smoke. The next thing he remembered was waking up in the Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead. He had been beaten by thugs out to roll a drunk, Tate had said. It was Tate who had found him and got him away from the thugs. He hadn’t seen Tate since Mexico and the Karolyi affair, but Tate had recognized him and intervened. Naturally, the incident was quickly and quietly investigated. Everyone came to the same conclusion: Kelly had gotten so completely drunk that he’d made an easy, random target. There had been no ulterior motive in the attack. It had been Kelly’s fault, and he couldn’t remember a damn thing about it. _Nothing?_ Scotty had asked him. Nada. Or at least, nothing but a few echoes of words:

_It’s a lovely plot. You lose._

_It’s you, Scotty. Always will be._

Yeah. He wasn’t about to share that last thought. Scotty had put up with enough from him. He suspected the Department was thinking the same thing. How could he have compromised himself that much? He hadn’t drunk like that in years. 

Kelly clenched his fist. It wasn’t just Scotty who should be thinking about getting out. They were in London because of a vague whisper about something of interest to US security involving The Honourable Quentin Maltravers and the party he was throwing for Bonfire Night. Kelly and Scotty were to go to the party and keep an eye out, although nothing else had come in to corroborate the rumor about the party. Well, Scotty could still be their eyes and ears at the party, while giving Julia the chance to mingle with the second-rate celebrities and Hooray Henrys that would be there. No doubt she would eat it up — and she’d have Scotty, too. Dammit.

He was being unfair. He knew that. Still, he wished they’d never come to London. They could be in Greece, or Acapulco, or even at a freezing listening station in Berlin. Anywhere else, and maybe he would have still been a fool but he wouldn’t have _acted_ like a stupid, fucking fool.

“Kelly?”

It was Tate. Kelly took in a breath before he turned, let the familiar mask fall into place. “Hey — “ He stopped as he took in the urgent expression on Tate’s face. “What is it?” Tate rarely looked anything other than deadpan.

“Get dressed. I need you to get me into that party.”

“Scotty?” Kelly’s stomach clenched.

“I’ll tell you as we go.”

Tate must have done some talking with staff before he found Kelly, because there was no protest or comment when he went back to the ward, grabbed the clothing Scotty had brought him, and changed. In less than 10 minutes they were out of the hospital and walking towards Maltravers’ house. There were people out and about, many heading for the Heath and the fireworks that would be starting soon. Kelly’s head was already thumping — a souvenir of the concussion. “What’s going on?” 

“We finally heard something else about Maltravers’ party. Some sort of…demonstration planned.”

“What kind of demonstration? And why there?”

Tate shrugged. “The why might be because of a meeting going on in the house next door. It’s all hush-hush but MI5 and Special Branch are involved, so whoever is at it, it’s big.”

“They’ve been warned? They’ve moved — ?”

“There are always rumors. Sure, we let them know what we’d heard, but it’s too vague. The Department, though, wants to make absolutely certain.”

“Scotty is at the party?”

“Yeah. And we’ve heard nothing. He missed a check-in fifteen minutes ago.”

“You were close.” Kelly’s eyes narrowed. What the hell had Scotty got himself into?

“Back-up. I knew I might need you to get me in. It could be nothing, but…”

“It could be everything.”

“Exactly.”

“Got a spare?”

Tate glanced at him, and Kelly knew he’d understood his question. “No.” He patted his pocket where, presumably, he had his gun. “You’re just here to get me in. And here we are.” 

There was a stream of merry revelers flowing out of the house. Kelly and Tate worked their way against the tide, up the steps and into the house. They were stopped just inside the door by a large man who was imposing despite the toffee apple he was consuming. 

“Hold it. I need — “

“Kelly!” Quentin Maltravers glided towards them, carrying a wine glass in one hand. He placed his other hand on the large man’s shoulder. “It’s all right Billy, that’s Kelly, who I didn’t think was coming, but: look! Here he is.” Quentin peered at Tate, then looked at Kelly. “Is this your date? Oh, dear.” The room was still crowded with people, despite the numbers that were moving out the door.

“Behave yourself, now.” Kelly smiled at Quentin and slid past Billy. Tate followed. “Have you seen Scotty?”

“He’s here somewhere.” Quentin looked around as if expecting Scotty to suddenly materialize. “Now _he_ is with a gorgeous woman. I would steal her away from him if I wasn’t completely and utterly devoted to my art.” He gestured with the hand holding the wine glass. “The last time I saw him he was in the blue drawing room, but they might have already gone to the Heath. Or maybe not, given the condition he was in.”

“What?” 

“I’ve never known him to drink, but then it’s a night for firsts. Never had a pipe burst during a party before, either. Thank goodness the wine was rescued.” He grinned at them. “Do come along with us, the fireworks are about to start!”

“We’ll be there in a bit.” Kelly eased them away from Quentin. They headed for the drawing room, threading through the thinning crowd.

“Art?” Tate asked.

“I never have figured out what it is. But he is very devoted.”

There were tables laden with food and drink, a few people lingered in the room, but there was no sign of Scotty or Julia. Kelly heard the first of the firework explosions just as Tate tugged at his arm. “Wait a minute — burst pipe?” 

Kelly thought for a moment. “Basement — kitchen and…boiler.” They found the stairs and hurried down to the kitchen. There was no one in the kitchen, although there were signs of a hasty departure, and water on the floor — 

“You don’t understand!” It was a woman’s distraught voice. Kelly and Tate ran through the kitchen to a walk-in pantry. Kelly stopped just inside the door to the pantry, Tate beside him. 

Scotty stood beside a canister mounted on the wall beside the boiler. A pipe led from the canister into the wall — which was the shared wall with the house next to it, Kelly realized. Scotty held a tin of drain cleaner in one hand and a bottle of vinegar in the other. He looked at Kelly, then swayed slightly. Kelly frowned, a sudden dreadful suspicion occurring to him. “My man,” Scotty said.

“Hey, Scotty. What’ve you got there?”

Scotty glanced at the canister. “Gas. Poison, I think. She primed it.” He gave an abbreviated jerk of his head towards Julia. 

Kelly glanced at the woman, who was on her knees on the floor, mascara and tears on her face, but he focused on Scotty. “Okay, but — “

“Gotta neura — neutral — stop it. See?” He lifted his hands. “Gonna blow. But…which?”

“Vinegar,” Julia whispered. Kelly saw she was watching them, her eyes wide, dread in her face. 

Scotty frowned. “Said alkaline before? Didn’t you?” He turned his head towards Kelly. “Didn’t she?”

“I don’t know, man.” Gas detonator — it didn’t matter if it would trigger an explosion or release poisoned gas, or both, the reaction had to be stopped. The target must be next door, judging by that pipe, they could all be in the danger zone. The canister rattled. No time. “You’ve got to choose.”

“Oh, lovely plot,” Tate muttered. He moved closer to Scotty. “Scott, I’ve seen this set-up before. Acid. Use the vinegar, all of it!” 

Scotty turned to the canister, but he paused, shook his head. “She — “

“Do it! Kelly, tell him.”

 _It’s a lovely plot. You lose._ The voice in his memory; that night at the pub, at the beating — _Tate_. Kelly stared at Tate, stunned by the sudden realization. He saw Tate’s hand slide into his pocket, reaching for the gun — “Yes!” He jerked his gaze to Scotty. “Like in Philly that time — just take my word for it.” Scotty’s head lifted. “Vinegar. Now!”

Scotty moved to the canister just as someone shouted: “No!”

Kelly registered it was a new voice but he was already lunging at Tate, taking him by surprise. They fell to the floor, grappling, wrestling for the gun. A moment later he heard the gun fire, and Tate’s body jerked. Kelly froze for a second, assessed, and then he eased his grip on Tate.

“No,” Tate mumbled. 

Kelly saw the blood on Tate’s shirt, near his belly. He automatically applied pressure, then looked up. Scotty was leaning against the wall near the canister. He still held the empty tin of drain cleaner. The vinegar bottle lay on the floor. A sandy-haired man was standing beside Scotty, one hand on Scotty’s arm. “Well done, lad,” the man said. The reaction that had been building in the canister had clearly been neutralized.

“Who the hell..?”

The man looked at Kelly. “Cowley. MI5.” He signaled behind Kelly. Kelly turned his head and watched two men enter the pantry. They took Julia between them and escorted her out. “She works for MI5. ‘Worked,’ I should say. They were holding her sister.”

“Ah.” Kelly looked down at Tate, whose eyes were closed. He was still breathing.

“An ambulance is on its way. We pieced the plot together with information from your Department and our sources. But we would have been too late.” Cowley glanced at Scotty, then looked back at Kelly. “Remarkable teamwork. He knew you meant the alkaline?”

“An old case of ours. Partners understand one another.”

“Indeed.”

“Sir?” A voice spoke from the doorway.

“Forgive me,” Cowley said. He left the pantry.

Kelly looked at Scotty. “You all right, Jack?”

Scotty pushed himself off the wall and walked carefully to Kelly. “Nothing’s…connected.”

“Yes. I know the feeling.” He kept his voice mild, but he felt a deep anger inside for what they had done to Scotty. “Just hold it together a little longer.” He looked down. “And that goes for you, too, Tate.” Rather to his astonishment, Tate’s eyelids flickered and then opened.

“Why bother? Won’t…make it to trial.”

“Maybe not, but it won’t be on my hands.”

“Got…enough already, haven’t you?” 

It was disconcerting to hear the thread of malevolence in Tate’s voice. He’d never had more than a working relationship with the man. “Why’d you do it?”

Tate’s mouth twitched, as if he’d smiled. “Money. You two were…bonus.” He closed his eyes again.

“Was it worth it?” Kelly didn’t bother to hide the disgust in his voice. Tate didn’t answer.

“You’re a traitor, Tate.” Scotty put a hand on Kelly’s shoulder, as if to steady himself. In the distance, Kelly heard the distinctive sound of British sirens.

Tate’s eyes opened again. “And you’re not? Every man has his price. You disobeyed everyone for…” He broke off, and again his mouth twitched in a semblance of a smile. “D’you know how he thinks of you?”

Kelly’s breath stopped for a moment. His hands were still pressed against Tate’s stomach. Relax, he told himself, Tate didn’t know. Of course he — 

“Course I know.”

“Oh, yeah? He wants to…fuck you. ‘It’s you, Scotty. Always will be.’”

Kelly closed his eyes. He knew Scotty was looking at him. He knew his own expression revealed too much. He’d never had much of a poker face, and he had none with Scotty.

Tate continued: “That’s what he said…drunk. You…you bet your life on a…faggot.”

There was a clattering on the stairs leading to the kitchen, and the sound of voices.

Scotty’s hand pressed harder into Kelly’s shoulder as he leaned down. “And I won, didn’t I?”

Kelly’s eyes snapped open. He turned his head towards Scotty, but the ambulance crew walked in. They took over for Kelly, which was fortunate as Scotty had overbalanced a bit when he’d leaned, and Kelly had to help him stand up again. It seemed easiest just to sling Scotty’s arm over his shoulder and wrap his own arm around Scotty’s waist. “I think it’s the hospital for you, too, Captain America.” He was pleased his voice sounded normal. But then, Scotty’s needs came first.

“Why? Haven’t got a con — connc — bruise.”

“No, but you have been drugged, my man.” Kelly steered them towards the door.

“No. Nope.”

“Yes, they were that dastardly.”

“We need a higher class of spies, man.”

“That we do.” Kelly got them up the stairs and discovered Quentin’s house had been taken over by members of MI5, Special Branch and their own Department. To his surprise, he could still hear fireworks. Quentin, looking both annoyed and excited, was gesticulating as he talked with Cowley. Kelly refused an ambulance ride for Scotty, knowing that the walk would do them both good. Carson, from the Department, was ordered to escort them. Kelly didn’t know if it was Carson or the effects of the drug that kept Scotty quiet for the duration of the walk. He was just glad, whatever the cause. His own head was spinning too much to be dealing with Scotty. 

_And I won, didn’t I?_

Maybe it had been the drug. Certainly, Scotty wasn’t in his right mind. And if it was the same drug they’d given Kelly, Scotty wouldn’t remember any of it — which was good, wasn’t it? Yes. Scotty had always known the path he was going to follow in life. And Kelly had known it, too. Alexander Scott would one day find a woman, settle down, become a professor or some such thing. Kelly would become “Uncle Kelly”. That was the way it was, Mr. Cronkite. End of story. He had never had any hope, so there was no reason for the see-saw of emotion over it all now. Just forget all that, and breathe easy that he had Scotty now, and they’d made it through Tate’s betrayal. Kelly tightened his grip around Scotty’s waist and kept them going. It was enough.

At the hospital, they admitted Scotty for observation overnight, but sent Kelly on his way. He had hoped to escape to the hotel, but Carson took him to the embassy for a de-brief. No one would reveal the exact nature of the meeting in the house next to Quentin’s, but they all agreed it had been the target of the plot. Tate would be interrogated, if he lived, and they would find out who was responsible. It had been Cowley who had made a connection between Julia’s presence at the party and the vague rumors that had been filtering through various channels. MI5 had rescued Julia’s sister, but the foreign agent with her had been killed. Julia was cooperating, but she had been kept in the dark regarding the identity of the plot masters. She knew Tate, but that’s all. She had focused on her sister. She did tell them that Kelly had been drugged and beaten simply to remove him from the party, allowing Julia a better shot at priming the canister. The canister had apparently been installed under the guise of a boiler repair. The repair company would be investigated, but it was expected that would turn into a dead end. 

“She tried to tell me,” Scotty said, when Kelly visited him in the ward the next morning, and quietly told him all he’d learned. “She tried to stop it.”

“She told you to use the drain cleaner?” Kelly had brought a chair close to the bed, and pulled the privacy curtain.

“Yes. I was feeling odd — went looking for her. Found her right after she primed the gas. She was scared to death.”

“She wasn’t the only one. When she saw Tate with me, she must have gone back to the original plan — second thoughts about her second thoughts. It just added to the confusion, of course.” Kelly looked down for a moment. “So, you remember it, do you?”

“Not all of it, but some of it vividly. Is this what a hangover’s like?”

“Without any of the pleasure, yes. A bit.” He didn’t want to encourage Scotty to remember. The words Tate had spoken could be buried.

“I don’t like these…gaps.”

“Best not to fight it. Speaking of which, it was Tate who beat me up, not a random thug.”

“Did he make it through surgery?”

“No. They’re combing through his stuff now, trying to figure out who he was working for.”

Scotty nodded, his eyes distant.

“I’m sorry about Julia.” It was only partly a lie. He was sorry she’d hurt Scotty.

“She was protecting her family. I can understand that. After Philly.”

Kelly shook his head. “You didn’t set a bomb. You wouldn’t.”

“Because I’ve got you.”

“Hmm. Well, next time maybe you’ll remember that _before_ you knock me out.”

“You know, there was a time, after my dad left. There was a night when I woke up, and knew something was wrong. It took me a while to realize what it was. It was my mom, crying. She was always so strong, always positive, always knew what to do. I didn’t think…”

“How old were you?”

“Nine. She wouldn’t have wanted me to know. I couldn’t comfort her. But after that night, I started taking care of her, as much as I could.”

“Took all that responsibility on your young shoulders.”

“I learned to depend on myself — self-discipline, control. Made it through college on my own — held down a job and sent money to my mom. Rhodes Scholar. After that, I was recruited to the Department.”

“Meteoric rise, meteoric, I say.”

Scotty smiled slightly. “And then they paired me with you.”

“Yes.” Kelly knew he’d put on his humor-is-the-best-defense smile, even though Scotty would see right through it. “Sorry about that.”

“You saved my life, man.”

“Of course I did. Er, which time?”

“From the moment we met.”

Kelly thought about it. “We hated each other, back at the Academy.”

“I know. There you were — undisciplined, hung over in class.”

“Yes. I can see why I was an immediate life-saver.”

“I couldn’t ignore you, though. Couldn’t forget you. You got to me, like no one ever has. First you made me angry, and then you made me laugh.”

Kelly coughed. “Yes, well — “

“And then you made me fall in love.”

Kelly stilled. “Jack…”

“‘It’s you, Scotty. Always will be,’” Scotty said softly. “Told you. Some of it, I remember vividly.”

“You would.” Kelly could barely get the words out. He was acutely aware of the other people in the ward, beyond the thin curtain. 

“Mind like a steel trap, even drugged.” Scotty sounded disgustingly self-satisfied.

“Even as you waffled between vinegar and alkaline.”

“Yes, but I understood you perfectly. You saved us all.”

“‘Remarkable teamwork,’ Mr. Cowley called it.”

“That’s us: Holmes and Watson.”

“Mutt and Jeff.” Kelly countered.

“Damon and Pythias.”

“Laurel and Hardy.”

“Hero and Leander,” Scotty said.

“I certainly hope not.” Kelly looked down at his hands, frowning. “Scotty.”

“You told him, but you wouldn’t tell me.”

Kelly felt his throat constrict. “I was drugged.”

“You heard what I said to Tate.”

“You were dru— “

“No. I’m still saying it. I’ll say it every day, if you want.”

Kelly didn’t look up. “You’ve got a plan for your life. I don’t…fit.”

“You remember what I told you the other day? About my mom and Christmas?”

“She wants to know when you’re coming home.” 

“I realized, when she asked me that, who it is I want to go home with.” Scotty reached out and touched the back of Kelly’s hand.

Kelly took hold of the hand. “Mom — “

“Loves you. She probably already knows.”

Kelly looked up at that, caught between pain and hope.

“It’s just her slow-witted son who had to have it spelled out.” Scotty’s eyes were on his — dark, serious, rock-steady.

“In words of one — well, several syllables, actually.” The hope was winning out. Hope and astonishment and joy.

The sound of voices and footsteps on the other side of the curtain caused them to draw apart, although Scotty’s hand tightened on his before he let go. “Have you come to get me out, Herman? Because I want to go back to our hotel room for a proper de-brief.”

“Yes. Well. So do I.” The curtain parted and a man in a white coat stepped inside, followed by a nurse. “Ah, doctor, my partner was just asking when he can leave.”

“The drug is out of your system, Mr Scott, and all tests are clear. The nurse will help you with the discharge procedure.”

“Thank you.” Scotty smiled, and only Kelly understood the reason behind the brilliance of it. 

He couldn’t help but smile as well. He might never stop. “Let’s go home, Captain.”

"And we both win.

The End  
December 2012


End file.
